


Blood and Bruises

by Saetha



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood, Dragon Sickness, M/M, Porn, Violence, and not exactly a happy ending either, dark!Dworin, this is what happens when they are both caught by the dragon sickness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 19:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2399549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The days inside Erebor drag on as they have regained the mountain. Thorin isn't the only one affected by the dragon sickness, most of the company having fallen under its spell to some extent. When Dwalin finds him alone in the treasury one night, things escalate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood and Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I kinda have to apologize for this, at it isn't quite my usual stuff - it is a lot darker than that and literally more than half of it is porn. It was my muse who first brought up dark!Dworin and for some reason we both found this idea bloody hot despite its initial wrongness. 
> 
> Please also note that this is definitely NOT a healthy relationship (and I don't mean the violent sex, which in my opinion, is a normal part of their relationship, I mean the lack of emotional care) they have here, but a rather skewed one, seeing as they are both affected by the dragon sickness. Also please don't try at home, ok? Ok.

_"Come on, come on and let me in_  
The bruises on your thighs like my fingerprints  
And this is supposed to match  
The darkness that you felt"

_([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NltlWLy3DTs))_

 

They have been searching for days.

Exhaustion is lying like a shadow over every single one of their Company. Dark circles under their eyes, grey skin and sluggish movements are part of them all now, but there is something even worse - the feverish sheen most of them have in their gaze, thoughts directed only at a single thing: to find the Arkenstone. Their leader towers over them all; Thorin's eyes are blazing and his will is what propels them all forward. Dwalin knows Thorin hasn't slept much last night or the nights before either. Nor, for that matter, has he or anyone else.

Most of their company is resting now in one of the side chamber next to the treasury where all the gold is waiting. Thorin is the only one still up - from time to time Dwalin can hear the soft clinking of coins from the hall when Thorin is sieving through yet another part of the vast treasure. The noise is grating at Dwalin's nerves and he feels his muscles twitch in response. When he can't stand it any longer, he gets up and opens one of the many doors into the treasure hall. Thorin doesn't even look up when he enters, much too engrossed in his task.

"Thorin."

Dwalin's voice is quiet at first, subduing the glowing amber of the anger inside him.

"Hm?"

Thorin still doesn't look at him, his eyes trained on the slippery ground made of coins that he is standing on. Several days ago he would have faced Dwalin by now, the hint of a smile glinting on his face when he saw that it was him, his eyes filled with that special light that seemed to belong only to the two of them. Not now, though. Not today. The madness has taken hold in his mind (and in Dwalin's own, as he will realise days later) and is slowly dripping its poison into his heart.

"You should rest." Dwalin suggests, knowing that he would order Thorin if he could.

"We haven't found it yet." There's no question what 'it' means. It can only be one thing: the Arkenstone.

"I know. You should still get some sleep. The others-"

Dwalin is rudely interrupted by a blazing look from Thorin's eyes and a voice full of scorn.

"You don't care at all, do you, Dwalin?" The words cut deeper than any knife could. No matter what has transpired between them, no matter the trouble and pain they have gone through, there has been one constant throughout all of it: Dwalin has always cared. Thorin's life is more important than his own and he would do everything to see him become the King Under the Mountain again.

"I do." Dwalin's words are hoarse with both pain and suppressed anger. "And you've always known that."

Thorin's lips curve up in the grim parody of a smile.

"If you did, you would help me find the Arkenstone." Dwalin's fingers twitch again when he hears Thorin's answer, his own mouth opening slightly in a snarl. Normally he would have tried to reason, telling him that he _is_ helping but that they all need rest - but not now. The gold is shining brightly when he looks at it and the light only brings out the darkness in his mind.

"Thorin, _listen_!" he growls, advancing towards him. Thorin draws himself up to his full height in response, his eyes on a level with Dwalin's. Dwalin has never been afraid of Thorin, but when he sees him now, with no care or concern for anyone least of all himself, there is a notion of fear lodged inside his throat. It just makes him angrier.

"You need to stop." he continues, trying to make it sound less like an order and more like the true concern it is. The angry glimmer in Thorin's eyes tells him that he hasn't succeeded.

"Stop what?" Thorin hisses. "Stop searching? This quest will have been useless if I don't take what is mine. I won't believe that the Maker has abandoned me by denying me the Arkenstone. Erebor is _mine_."

It is the way he says those last words - full of fury and greed and scorn towards all else - that finally makes something snap inside Dwalin. Thorin has never before talked as if the mountain were his alone - its throne was his _right_ , yes, but their home belonged to all of them. He had not gone on this quest for his own sake, but for that of his people.

Dwalin takes a step forward and punches Thorin squarely in the face.

Thorin reels back, feet slipping on the ground made mostly of coins and almost stumbling and falling. When he looks up at Dwalin it's clear that his own rage can no longer be tamed. He feels his chin and winces when he touches the spot where Dwalin has hit him. Then Thorin turns and lunges at Dwalin.

Their weapons are somewhere outside of the treasury and so they fight with nail and teeth, with hands and knees. This isn't like the mock fights they got into as children, nor the carefully choreographed duels, practise fights or warriors' dances they have carried out for more than a century. No, this is a fight of heated blood and clouded minds with no regards to their own safety, two warriors clashing with snarls and growls and the sound of gold coins and trinkets slipping beneath their bodies.

They so fixed on each other that they don't even notice when they're approaching a set of stairs. Thorin almost breaks Dwalin's nose when he hits him in the face and Dwalin reacts by letting out a pained grunt as he tries to wrestle Thorin to the floor, only too aware of the heat between their bodies. The ground beneath them suddenly vanishes and they tumble down the steps of green marble in a shower of coins. The impact slams the air out of Dwalin's lungs and white sparks dance in front of his eyes for a moment. Thorin is wretched out of his grip and slams against a wall not far away.

He is up and moving almost immediately again, stalking over to where Dwalin is hauling himself upright. Thorin looks at Dwalin and wipes at the blood trickling from his mouth with the back of his hand. He is breathing heavily, his lips are slightly parted and there is fever in his gaze, the muscles at his throat standing out and glistening with sweat. Dwalin wants to grab him by his shoulders and shake him, he wants to continue to slap some sense back into his king and he wants to kiss the life out of him and take him on a bed of gold.

Dwalin has always been an open book for Thorin to read and this time is no exception. Thorin sees his thoughts in his eyes and the smile of a predator stretches on his face, bloodied teeth shining red. His movements are all hungry grace when he approaches Dwalin, a motion that causes him to dig his fingernails into his palm, trying to contain the heat rising up in his lower body. A voice from a last, desperate corner in his mind yells at him that Thorin isn't himself, that he can't take advantage of him, that he shouldn't touch him like this, not here, not now.

The voice is quickly silenced when Thorin roughly grabs him by the back of the head and pulls him close, crushing their lips together. The kiss is all hunger, biting and pulling until their lips are bloody and swollen and the desire has grown too large to be contained. Thorin grinds his hips against Dwalin's and he feels his body responding even as Thorin pulls away again. He licks his reddened lips and smirks.

"Is this what you want?" Thorin growls.

Something inside Dwalin shouts 'No', that what he craves is the Thorin with softness in his eyes even they are violent, the one who gently strokes his skin afterwards and whispers words of Khuzdul in his ear, not the one with the dragon sickness colouring everything he does. But the anger inside him has transformed him as well, has clouded his judgment of what is right and wrong and when he looks at Thorin's muscles moving under the fabric of his clothes, the glint of light on the patches of exposed skin and the strength in his bearing, he knows he needs to have him.

With a growl he hauls Thorin close again, his grip around his shoulder so hard it will likely leave bruises. They both couldn't care less. Dwalin is yanking his hair when he's kissing him, causing Thorin to bite down harder, sucking, and licking up the blood with his tongue. Thorin's teeth are scraping his skin when he's travelling downwards, his fingers leaving red grooves on Dwalin's skin when he rips apart his clothes. They fight for dominance, Dwalin's fingers curled in Thorin's hair when they tumble to the ground, jerking his head up to kiss him again and leave traces of teeth on his jaw.

With a shove Dwalin manages to bring Thorin underneath him, arms pinned down in a bone-crushing grip and his knee forcing his legs apart. Thorin growls deep in his throat and bucks, bringing his hips closer to Dwalin's and wrenching his arm out of Dwalin's momentarily slackening grip with the same movement. Thorin's hand snakes down inside Dwalin's trousers and grabs him firmly, so hard it hurts. Dwalin bites his lips when Thorin begins to work him, his fingers digging into Thorin's chest and back in response, printing patterns into his skin to bear the evidence of his existence amongst the dark lines etched into it with ink. He stifles his moan by biting Thorin's shoulder when he comes, heat shooting through his body and electrifying the two of them.

His fingers are slick with sweat and blood when he yanks down Thorin's pants, his other hand following the line of Thorin's muscles down his chest, leaving his marks with fingernails and teeth before he closes his mouth around where Thorin is already hard. Thorin jerks when he feels Dwalin's teeth grazing his skin, fighting and urging him to go faster by arching his hips towards him and pulling at Dwalin's hair with growing intensity. Dwalin's hand is grabbing his buttocks, kneading the firm flesh under his fingers in rhythm with his tongue and teeth until he can feel Thorin coming apart under him. He imagines Thorin's head thrown back and mouth open in a wordless scream when he comes and his lips spread in a wolfish grin as he wipes them with his hand. Thorin's taste is heavy in his mouth, both salty and sweet.

Their chests are heaving, the gold coins digging into their skin and for a single moment they stop moving against each other, the only sound in the air their harsh panting and the faint clinking of gold. Then Thorin digs his hands in Dwalin's biceps, brings his knee up and snarls as he flips him on his back. Dwalin grunts and tries to push himself upright again, but Thorin's legs are straddling him, planting his hips firmly to the ground. He bends over and is kissing him again whilst Dwalin's fingertips are following the line of his spine down with his fingers. Their kiss is heavy with salt, violence and the desire for domination.

Thorin's fingers close around Dwalin's throat, not hard enough to rob him off all air, but still firmly enough that Dwalin knows he will have bruises the next day and the meaning is clear. Thorin eyes are dark when grinds against him, the heat of his breath setting Dwalin's skin on fire as he moves his mouth to Dwalin's ear.

"You are mine." he hisses and bites down on Dwalin's earlobe, hard. Dwalin snarls, but Thorin's fingers tighten around his throat as he adds: "And you _will_ remember me."

Dwalin is gasping for air, but the sensation is still equal parts pleasure and pain, especially when the fingers of Thorin's other hand grab his buttocks and make their way inside him, one by one. The lack of air mingles with the feeling of Thorin inside his body, driving lightning of sensation through him from head to toe. He doesn't even notice at first when the grip around his throat is gone, his own hands still tangled in Thorin's hair and firmly gripping his neck. He jerks against Thorin, once, twice, keeping their bodies close together with the desire to possess, to mark what is equally his as much as he is Thorin's.

Exhaustion creeps into their bodies once they have finally stopped their frantic movements. The anger inside Dwalin is slowly wearing off and when he closes his eyes, he could almost believe that they are back in the Blue Mountains, Thorin huddled close to him during a cold winter's night, a slight smile playing around his mouth whenever he softly strokes his hair. When Thorin looks at him now, however, there is no gentleness in his gaze, only darkness and fever. He wretches his body out of Dwalin's embrace and picks up his clothes from his ground, without a single gaze back at his One.

Dwalin sits up much more slowly, feeling the hint of pain spread through his body, the ache from abused muscles and flesh and the slight burning of the new marks on his skin. He grabs his hopelessly ruined shirt and clutches it in his hands, remembering Thorin's grip tearing it in two, the sensation of his fingers tearing into his flesh and the feeling of his lips on his own. With a low noises from deep within his throat he settles back against a column, draws his knees up to his chest and buries his head in his arms.


End file.
